


what terrifying final sights (put out your beating heart?)

by the_one_that_fell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, also mentions of suicide ptsd depression child abuse drugs and alcohol, both the literal and the emotional kind, but mostly the literal kind, choking tw, ended up as battling demons, minor linctavia & minty & raven/wick & harper/wells, started off as campy ghost hunting, talk of death and angry demon violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The dorm isn't haunted!" Bellamy shouted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Clarke, just admit that you and Lincoln knocked over the bookcase and we can all move on with our lives." </p>
<p>Or, the one where Clarke and Bellamy are co-RAs, and their dorm is definitely haunted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what terrifying final sights (put out your beating heart?)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching way too many ghost hunting shows lately. 
> 
> Also, finally got an ao3 account! Which is super exciting, since I've been clinging to the hell that is ff.net for years now like the stubborn ass that I am. Will be moving a few of my other stories over in the next day or so, so if you've seen 'em before, that's why. 
> 
> (I'm also the-one-that-fell on tumblr, if you wanna drop by and listen to me whine about unemployment.)

Wells sat on the end of Clarke’s bed, flipping through one of his new textbooks. He had yet to actually stop and read a word on any of the pages; Clarke secretly thought he was afraid of all the things within the text that he might not already know. Which was a silly fear, given that going to college was about _learning new things_ , but she really couldn’t blame him – she’d been the same way her freshman year.

“I can’t believe you got yourself assigned as my RA,” Wells muttered with a mock bitterness. Clarke looked up from her laptop and rolled her eyes.

“Please, I’m the best RA you could have asked for.”

Wells shook his head with a dramatic solemnity. “How am I supposed to make all of my freshman mistakes when you’re the one who’ll have to write me up? I can’t be a rebel with Mama Clarke around.”

Clarke finished the last few words of the email she had been composing, then gave her best friend a dry look. “Wells, you are the least rebellious person I know. The last time you broke a rule was in fourth grade, when you punched that kid who stole my gameboy.”

“Okay, one, _you’re welcome_ ,” Wells said, giving Clarke a pointed look. “And two-” He flopped back onto her bed so that his head rested between her hip and the wall. “-this is _college_! This is when I do drugs and go to wild sex parties and change my name to Fang or something.”

Laughter bubbled up in Clarke, and she set aside her laptop as she giggled. “Wells, I don’t know where you got your ideas about college-”

“TV, mostly,” he said with a wry grin.

“-but last time I checked, there weren’t any sex parties with people named Fang.” She tugged on his ear playfully, until he swatted her hand away. “You don’t need to be nervous about classes,” she told him, voice softening in seriousness. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“Except for Raven?”

Clarke laughed. “Except for Raven. Which you’ll do well to remember, when you meet her tomorrow.”

Wells raised his eyebrows. “You mean I get to meet these mysterious, definitely made-up friends of yours tomorrow?”

“Hey!” Clarke kneed Wells gently in the stomach. “I wouldn’t just make up friends!”

“Their names are Raven and Wick,” Wells said. “They don’t exactly sound real.”

“Wick’s his last name,” Clarke said with a pout. “His first name’s Kyle.” Wells’ face split into a teasing grin. “And anyways, that’s not the poi-”

A sharp rap on the door cut her off. Clarke and Wells both sat up, and Wells watched as his friend quickly settled into her _Helpful and Mature RA Mode_.

“The door’s open!” Clarke called, and Wells opened his book, just to occupy his hands.

A pretty girl strode into the room, dark hair billowing behind her. She was small and petite, but held herself with such confidence and grace that, to Clarke, she seemed like an Amazon.

“You’re Clarke, right? The other RA?”

Shipperton Hall – “The Ship” – was the smallest on campus, housing only a hundred students. Technically the Ship had six RAs, two per floor, but Clarke assumed the girl was referring solely to the third floor.

“Yes, I am. How can I help you?” Clarke flashed her what Wells referred to as her Future Pediatrician Smile, but the girl didn’t seem impressed or charmed. Instead, she crossed her arms and jutted out her hip, glaring back out the door at an unknown party.

“This dorm’s haunted, right?” The girl asked with great seriousness, as if it was an indisputable fact. “Because I definitely saw a ghost, and _someone-_ ” She glared back out the door again. “-doesn’t believe me.”

Clarke’s RA mask fell away, and she simply stared at the girl in shock. Wells hid his snickers behind his book.  “Uh,” Clarke said, scrunching her brows together.  “Not that I’m aware of, no.”

The girl sighed loudly, and the person she’d been glaring at in the hall said, “See! You’re just seeing things, O.”

Clarke’s jaw clenched as she recognized the voice of her fellow third-floor RA. He ducked into the room, giving the pouting girl his best _I Told You So_ look. “I see we agree on something, Princess.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that, Bellamy,” Clarke said, crossing her arms across her chest.

Bellamy ignored her, turning again to the younger girl. “See, O, this dorm isn’t haunted, it’s all in your head. If you hadn’t been talking to that weird goggles kid-”

“Jasper,” Clarke and the girl said in tandem. The girl flashed her an odd look, the continued, “You really need to learn the names of your advisees, Bell. Like Clarke.”

Bellamy shrugged, then looked at Clarke. He pointed at the girl and asked, “What’s her name?”

Clarke shrugged. “I haven’t had the chance to meet her yet, before now.”

“See, O, she doesn’t know everyone’s name either.” Smugly, Bellamy announced, “Her name’s Octavia.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “You literally named me, Bell, that doesn’t count.” She approached the bed and stuck out her hand. “I’m Octavia, Bellamy’s sister.”

Both Clarke and Wells shook Octavia’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” Clarke said, giving Octavia a small smile. “Though I would love to prove your brother wrong, I have to say that I’ve never heard of the Ship being haunted. It’s not that old of building, really.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Also, _ghosts don’t exist_. C’mon, O, we’re late to meeting Miller and Murphy.”

“Fine.” Octavia gave Clarke and Wells one last glance. “Bye, guys!” She and Bellamy left as quickly as they came, and could be heard bickering down the hall.

As soon as the door shut, Wells turned to Clarke with a smirk. “So _that’s_ the asshole you fought with all through RA training?”

Clarke rolled her eyes and nodded. Wells chuckled.

“Tall, dark hair, bad boy…you _did_ notice he’s your type, right?”

Clarke huffed and chucked her pillow at his face. “Oh, shut up.”

* * *

 

Clarke was on her first patrol of the semester, and not very happy about it. Sure, she’d lucked out and been partnered with Lincoln, who she’d befriended in her figure drawing class last year, but it was already a loud weekend on campus. So far they’d reprimanded five underage freshmen for possession of alcohol and reported two junior guys for picking a fight outside one of the frat houses.

“So, I hear your dorm is haunted,” Lincoln said as they walked down one of the halls of Arcadia, listening for raucous partying to break up.

“Who on earth told you that?” Clarke asked incredulously. She checked her watched, wishing this night would be over so she could just go to bed and forget about drunk idiots.

“Octavia Blake.”

Clarke was ready to make some remark about Octavia’s overactive imagination when she noticed that Lincoln was fiddling with his bracelets, a small, yet goofy smile on his face. (Clarke was not sure she’d ever seen Lincoln smile before.)

“Oh, my god,” Clarke said, a wide grin spreading across her face. “You have a crush on a freshman!”

Lincoln scowled at her. “Shut up.”

A drunk couple stumbled down the hall past them, hand-in-hand. They were giggling like children, but the looks on their faces told Clarke that they were heading to do some rather _adult_ activities.

“You know she’s Bellamy Blake’s little sister, right?”

Lincoln shrugged. “I’m bigger than him. He doesn’t scare me.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Not my point. If you and Octavia get married, he’d be your brother-in-law.”

“Octavia and I aren’t getting married,” Lincoln said, jaw tightening. Then, voice almost a whisper, he said, “I haven’t even asked her out yet.”

They had left Arcadia Hall at this point, and were rapidly approaching the Ship. Clarke knew better than to continue this conversation in Octavia’s own dorm, so she simply said, “Well, when you do, don’t say I didn’t warn you about the asshole that comes as part of the package.”

“Mhmm, got it.” Lincoln gave her a playful shove, then the two of them walked in a comfortable silence as they patrolled all the way up to the third floor.

“Oh, and in response to your earlier statement,” Clarke said as they passed by Wells’ room. “This dorm isn’t haunted. It’s only, like, thirty years old. Maybe forty.”

Lincoln shrugged. “Just what I heard. Besides, wasn’t this the building that girl jumped off of?”

“Was it?” Clarke frowned. “I thought that happened on the science building.”

Lincoln shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure it was Shipperton, because everyone thought it was weird that someone would choose such a short building for suici-”

Before Clarke knew what was happening, Lincoln had his arms around her waist and was hauling her backwards. There was a loud crash, and right where Clarke had been standing lay the remains of the common room bookshelf.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, clutching at her chest. A couple doors flew open, and some of her advisees poured into the hallways, ready to see which drunk ass-hat had vandalized their common room.

“Clarke? Are you okay?” Wells appeared by her side. Clarke could only nod in response, eyes trained on the bookshelf.

“Dude, that shelf is _solid_! Who knocked it over?!” One of the freshmen – Monty – asked in awe. His roommate, Jasper, eyed Lincoln’s large, muscular frame suspiciously.

“What’s going on here?” Bellamy pushed through the small crowd, eyes widening at the sight of downed bookshelf, then flicking up to Clarke and Lincoln.

Octavia appeared at his shoulder, growing a little sullen as she noticed Lincoln’s arms still around Clarke’s waist. Bellamy noticed too, though it seemed to bring him some amusement.

“What exactly were you two doing? That’s not a light piece of furniture.”

“It wasn’t us!” Clarke said, face growing pink at Bellamy’s implied accusation. “It nearly fell on top of me as we were walking by!”

Bellamy didn’t look convinced. “That bookshelf has been there for years, Princess. It didn’t just decide to fall over.”

“It’s the ghost!” Octavia gasped, looking around wildly, as if some floating bedsheets would pop out and rattle some chains at any moment.

“Ghost?” Jasper asked, eyes widening. “This dorm is haunted?”

“ _Dude_ ,” Monty said.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” one of the girls – Monroe, Clarke thought her name was – said. “I did _not_ sign up for a haunted dorm.”

“The dorm isn’t haunted!” Bellamy shouted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Clarke, just admit that you and Lincoln knocked over the bookcase and we can all move on with our lives.”

“But we didn’t!” Clarke shouted back, hands on her hips. “I’m telling you, we were walking by and it nearly crushed me!”

“Bookcases don’t just fall over, Princess,” Bellamy said, scowling.

“Clearly,” Clarke retorted. “Someone must have rigged it.”

“Yeah, the ghost did,” Octavia said, folding her arms across her chest.

“There’s no fucking ghost, O,” Bellamy snapped. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Well, someone rigged the bookshelf,” Clarke said, voice growing hard and icy. Wells took a step back, as did Lincoln. “And if – _when_ – I find out who it was, that person will face dire consequences.”

The freshmen scattered quickly after that, all muttering things about homework that needed to be done and rooms that needed to be cleaned. Bellamy and Lincoln righted the bookshelf, and Clarke and Wells quickly gathered up all the outdated books that it had housed over the years. Octavia had long disappeared, grumbling to herself about _pigheaded brothers_ and _angry ghosts_.

As they finished putting the shelf back in its place, Bellamy gave Clarke a pointed look and said, quietly, “Next time, take it to your room, okay? The last thing we need is to add fuel to this ghost rumor.”

He turned away and left before Clarke could retort, her face red with anger and embarrassment. Lincoln had grown quiet, melancholy, and Clarke could see all the ways he was planning on proving to Octavia that he was single and entirely uninterested in her RA. Wells patted Clarke’s shoulder, clearly holding back laughter.

“C’mon, Lincoln,” she muttered, kicking at the bookshelf lightly. “We need to finish our rounds.”

Lincoln followed after her, much more sullen than he had been before. Wells watched as they walked away, already planning how many ghost-related puns he could fit into conversation with Clarke in the morning.

* * *

 

“So I hear your dorm is haunted.”

Clarke threw her hands up in exasperation, nearly smacking Wick in the face. Wells chuckled, not looking up from his intense text-debate with Harper, one of the other freshmen in the Ship.

“Why do people keep saying that?” Clarke asked, struggling not to scream. She looked over at Wells suspiciously, but he held his hand up in a placating manner.

“Look, I just told ‘em Lincoln saved you from getting crushed. That’s all, I swear.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “No, these two dumb freshmen, Monty and Jasper, told me. They’re always in the lab, trying to blow shit up, and we get to talking sometimes.”

Monty and Jasper were suddenly at the top of Clarke’s shit list – well, maybe right behind the Blake siblings. Bellamy was _always_ at the top of Clarke’s shit list.

“The Ship isn’t haunted, Rae,” Clarke said. She wasn’t pouting – she _wasn’t_. She just wished people would drop this ghost thing. It made her uneasy. “Some dumb kids just rigged the bookshelf. My money’s on Atom, he seems shifty, plus what kind of name is _Atom-?_ ”

“I don’t know about you, Reyes, but that sounds like denial to me,” Wick said around a mouthful of fries. Raven took a long sip of her lemonade, then nodded in agreement.

“Oh, definitely. Anyways, I don’t want to be the one to tell you, but clearly this ghost wants you dead. Which sucks, really.” She finished with a teasing grin, dodging the carrot stick Clarke chucked at her.  

“Or my advisees are a bunch of little shits,” Clarke deadpanned. Wells stuck his tongue out at her, but did not argue.

“So how’s life with the Asshole?” Wick asked, trying to balance one of his fries on the bridge of his nose. Raven snickered and flicked the fry to the ground.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Clarke said. “Argues with me over everything little thing, walks around shirtless _all_ the time, hits on all the freshmen girls, refuses to believe Lincoln and I had nothing to do with bookshelf, has a stupidly attractive face, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Stupidly attractive, huh?” Wick laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell him that at our next poker game.”

Clarke pursed her lips. “Don’t you fucking dare, Kyle.”

“I kid, I kid.” Wick gave her what he thought was his most charming smile; really, it just made him look a little deranged. “But seriously, when can we come over and ghost hunt? I’ve been dying to break out my old EMS detector.”

“Your _what_?” Clarke asked, voice dangerously monotone.  “No, actually, don’t answer that. The Ship isn’t haunted.”

“Whatever you say, Clarke,” Raven said, and though that promptly ended the discussion, Clarke didn’t like the mischievous glances she kept exchanging with Wick.

“Thanks for the backup,” she muttered to Wells. Wells grinned.

“Always here for you, Clarke-a-lark. Unless I’m texting with a pretty girl – then you’re on your own.”

“Filthy traitor,” she grumbled. At least he wasn’t buying into the ghost thing; that’s all she could ask for at the moment.

* * *

 

Two weeks had passed since the bookshelf incident, and things had seemed to settle down. Of course, as soon as things started going well in Clarke’s life, horrible shit from her past decided to rear its ugly head.

“Why do you have three text notifications from Finn Collins?” Wells asked one evening as he lounged on Clarke’s bed, pretending to be reading articles for tomorrow’s 9 a.m. class.

“What?” Clarke looked up from her laptop, where she was _just so close_ to finishing her paper for Art History. “Why is Finn texting me?”

“I literally just asked you that, how would I know?” Wells reached over and tapped in the password to Clarke’s phone, eyes widening comically as he read the texts. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Clarke jumped up from her desk, hands outstretched. “What’s wrong?”

Wells pressed his lips together tightly, not taking his eyes off the phone. “I’m not sure you want to read this right now.”

Clarke sighed. “Hand it over.”

Wells grimaced, but tossed her the phone. Taking a deep breath, Clarke read through the texts, feeling her blood pressure rise with each one.

_Finn Collins (10:36 pm): hey clark look I know u said you didn’t want to hear frm me, but I’ve been thinkin a lot lately and I just thik that me an u we have a connection and u cant deny that. Pls text me back I want to makethis work btwn us_

_Finn Collins (10:38 pm): I love u clark pls answer me_

_Finn Collins (10:43 pm): why wont u text me back cant u at least do that for me, why r u so angry all the time??? Jeez princess, u think ur 2 good for me??? Is that it?? Have u met some1 else???? Its only been six months how cud u do that did I mean nonthing to u????_

“Fucking hell,” Clarke said, tossing her phone aside. “What an ass. Couldn’t even spell my name right.”

Wells grimaced again. “Do you think he’s drunk or just blinded by his tears?”

“Shut up,” Clarke said, rubbing a hand across her face. “Do you think he texted Raven too?”

Wells pulled out his own phone, tapping quickly on the screen. “Let’s see.”

Less than a minute later, Wells was chuckling at Raven’s reply. He handed the phone to Clarke, who couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s reaction.

_Raven “THE BOSS” Reyes (11:03 pm): yeah, that asswipe has been texting me all night. def drunk. haven’t responded yet._

_Raven “THE BOSS” Reyes (11:04 pm): what did he say to clarke? did he pull that ‘connection’ crap with her too?_

_Raven “THE BOSS” Reyes (11:04 pm): wick & I are planning revenge. it involves paint-filled water balloons and minor law breaking. u guys in?_

Clarke smiled, looking over her shoulder at Wells. He nodded, grin widening.

_To: Raven “THE BOSS” Reyes (11:05 pm):  
Oh hell yes. Count us in._

* * *

 

Later that night, Clarke and Wells were running from campus security, paint splattered across their dark clothes. Raven – who had a limp from a car accident and couldn’t run very far – had escaped on Wick’s back, brandishing her cane like a warrior with a sword. Luckily, security had decided to follow Clarke and Wells, who were laughing so hard they could barely see where they were going.

“Shit!” Wells shouted. “My dad is going to _kill_ me!”

“No he’s not,” Clarke wheezed as they skidded around a corner. “My mom will kills us both before Thelonious even hears about it.”

They dashed into The Ship, knowing that if they could duck into one of their rooms and turn out the lights, Security would be forced to give up the hunt. It was only a matter of making it to the third floor before the Very Angry and Very Athletic security officer.

They sprinted up the stairs, Clarke stumbling once, and made it to the third floor when they heard the security officer shouting. _Fuck,_ Clarke thought. _Almost there_.

As they sprinted through the common room, however, Wells fell, and Clarke heard the pop of something in his ankle.

Wells let out an anguished cry, then looked up at Clarke fearfully. “Go!” He shouted. “Leave me!”

“As if!” Clarke hissed. “C’mon!” She hoisted him up, getting his arm over her shoulder. There was no way they’d be able to outrun the security officer; Clarke wasn’t that strong. But she and Wells had been through everything together – college applications, SATs, break-ups, two horrible, painful, life-altering funerals – and they would face this together as well.

“What the hell?” Bellamy appeared in the common room doorway, eyebrows raised. “What’s with all the screaming?”

Clarke was still out of breath, and only managed to gasp out, “Security- chasing- hurt-”

Though she’d never admit it, Clarke had to admire Bellamy’s quick understanding and reaction. He got under Wells’ other arm, and together he and Clarke dragged Wells into a room and locked the door. Clarke flipped off the lights, and the three of them waited in silence as the stomping of feet passed down the hall. Eventually the sound faded, and they all let out the breaths they had been holding.

Bellamy turned on the lamp next to his bed, giving them both incredulous looks. Clarke looked down, realizing that the all-black clothes and paint splatters probably warranted an explanation.

“Uh,” she said, looking down at her feet. “Cheating ex-boyfriend. Two-timed me and my friend Raven. He texted earlier, trying to get back together with both us.” She exchanged a wry smile with Wells. “Guess he never expected the two of us to become friends after all the drama. We decided to get payback, but security caught us. So we ran.”

Bellamy nodded, looking like he almost approved. _That’s a first_ , Clarke thought to herself. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Princess.”

Clarke clenched her jaw at the nickname, but knew bringing it up would only egg Bellamy on. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke could see Wells rolling his eyes at that line. So she’d seen one too many spy movies, sue her.

“But, uh, thanks,” she said, giving Bellamy a reluctant smile. “For saving us. We would’ve made it back to my room but Wells tripped and well, you know.”

Bellamy laughed, running a hand through his hair, but Wells frowned at this. “I didn’t trip.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at him; now was not the time to be insecure in his masculinity. “Yeah you did. I saw it.”

Wells shook his head. “No, you tripped and fell into me.”

“What?” Clarke tilted her head in confusion. “No I didn’t. I was a couple feet behind you, I watched you fall down on your own.”

Bellamy watched the exchange between them curiously, a small frown on his face.

Clarke felt the blood draining from her face as Wells shook his again, more slowly this time. “No, Clarke, I didn’t trip. I was pushed.”

* * *

 

“So our dorm is haunted,” Wells said at lunch the next day. Neither he nor Clarke had slept much the night before, and both looked worse for the wear. His ankle was sprained, and currently wrapped up nice and tight by a campus nurse who was under the impression that he fell off of a treadmill.

Raven and Wick – who looked well-rested and unperturbed, the bastards – exchanged excited looks. “Seriously?” Raven asked. “Clarke, you aren’t going to correct him?”

Clarke sighed. “Look, I still think he just tripped-” Wells shot her a dirty look. “-but if he thinks that something pushed him, then maybe something pushed him.”

“You can’t deny something weird’s going on in the Ship,” Wells said defensively. “The bookshelf, getting pushed, the moaning coming from the guys’ bathroom-”

“We all know that’s just someone masturbating,” Clarke said sharply. Wick and Raven giggled like little kids hearing the word “sex.”

Wells rolled his eyes. “Anyway, you guys should definitely come ghost hunt. Preferably in a way that gets rid of the ghost. Because my ankle hurts like a bitch.”

“Aw, did the mean ghostie hurt you?” Raven asked, tweaking his nose. Wells batted her hand away, scowling.

“Clarke, are you gonna yell at us if we come ghost hunt?” Wick asked, shooting her his Slightly-Less-Creepy-But-Not-Quite-Charming smile. Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Only if you bring me some booze. Preferably Fireball or Jäger.” Clarke sighed. “I’m not doing this sober.”

Raven and Wick cheered, and Wells slapped her on the back. As long as word of this didn’t get back to her advisees, everything would be fine.

* * *

 

Everything was _not_ fine.

Raven had let it slip to Monty and Jasper the next day in the lab that she was planning on ghost hunting in their dorm. Of _course_ , that meant that they’d begged to tag along, promising weed and colorful commentary. Raven, who could never say no to adorable, begging nerds, agreed.

So then, of course, Monty and Jasper had told Monroe, who was absolutely terrified of ghosts and showed fear through aggression and action, so now she was bringing brownies. And then her roommate, Harper, heard about it and offered to bring her Ouija board.

So then Wick, the jackass, decided to turn it into a party, and invited his poker buddies, Miller and Murphy. Unfortunately, that meant Bellamy heard about it as well, which is why he showed up at Clarke’s door that night, giving her the dirtiest scowl she had ever seen.

“I can’t believe you,” he spat, arms crossed over his chest petulantly. “A ghost-hunting party? Really? Now Octavia’s blathering on about ‘orbs’ and ‘residual energy’ and I don’t really know what any of that means but I _do_ know that it means she hasn’t been paying attention in class all week.”

Clarke sighed. (She’d been doing a lot of that lately.) “It was just supposed to be Raven and Wick. I didn’t think those idiots would invite half of campus.”

Bellamy scoffed, but his expression softened a little. He ran in similar circles as Raven and Wick; he knew how they could be.

“Look, think of it this way,” Clarke said, leaning against her doorframe. “Tonight, they’ll scare themselves by running around in the dark and talking to shadows. But once they think they’ve made contact or whatever, and do their little cleansing ritual, they’ll forget about all this ghost nonsense and go back to their normal lives.”

Grudgingly, Bellamy nodded in agreement. “Alright, but if Octavia drops out of school to be a paranormal researcher or whatever, I’m blaming you.”

“Fine.” Bellamy left looking less cranky than before. Clarke laughed to herself, just a little, and quickly tapped out a text on her phone.

_To: Lincoln Everwood (9:47 pm): hey, if u wanna ghost hunt w a bunch of idiots, get ur ass over here_

_To: Lincoln Everwood (9:48 pm): also did I mention one of those idiots is Octavia Blake?_

* * *

 

“Okay, so we have two EMS readers, four cameras – two of them are infrared – and one spirit box. The EMS readers won’t work too well here since we can’t cut the power, but take note of any significant spikes anyway.”

Raven laid out all of the equipment on the common room table, grinning like a madman. Monty and Jasper sat in front of her, Octavia squeezed between them, all looking excited and a little high. Monroe and Harper lounged on an armchair to their left, looking less excited but equally as enthralled. Miller and Murphy leaned on the wall behind them, eating the brownies Monroe had brought.

Wells sat on the couch next to Raven and Wick, leg propped up on the table. It was decided that he and Raven would manage the “home base,” while also trying to contact the spirits through EVP sessions and the Ouija board. Harper would stay with them, and the others would break into groups to explore the rest of the dorm.

“Okay,” Wick said. “I say let’s split into pairs: Clarke and Lincoln, y’all take the southern stairwell; Bellamy and Miller, you guys take the northern one; Octavia and Monroe, take the girls’ bathroom; Jasper and Monty, take the boys’; me and Murph will patrol the halls. Any questions?”

 “What happens if we make contact?” Harper asked, chewing anxiously at her lower lip. Wick smiled, not unkindly.

“Then scream real loud, so the rest of us can come runnin’,” he said with a wink. This did not seem to placate Harper, but she nodded in understanding.

Lincoln and Clarke wandered around the staircase for a while, finally sitting on the steps to check their respective phones. “You know,” Lincoln said with a teasing smile, “If you wanted to spend time alone with me, you didn’t have to pull together a ghost hunting party to do so.”

“Shut up,” Clarke said, sticking her tongue out at him. “In a minute we’ll reconvene with everyone, Raven will start telling a scary story, and Octavia will pretend to be scared so you’ll have an excuse to hug her.”

It was dark, but Clarke could tell Lincoln was doing that goofy, embarrassed smile he reserved for thinking about Octavia. “You’re a pretty good wingman, Clarke Griffin,” he said.

“Wingman, ghost hunter, what _can’t_ I do?” Clarke asked with a laugh. “C’mon, let’s head back.”

As they headed down the hall, they paused by the boys’ bathroom. From inside came a soft, mournful moaning; it was one of the saddest things Clarke had ever heard.

“Very funny, guys,” she shouted through the door. No one answered, so she asked, voice softer, “Monty? Jasper?”

Silently, she and Lincoln peeked into the bathroom. Monty and Jasper were nowhere to be found, but the moaning only grew louder.

Exchanging a look, the two RAs began peering into the stalls and behind the shower curtains. The room was cold, unseasonably so, and – as far as they could tell – empty.

“It’s just the wind,” Clarke said, voice uncertain. “Just a draft. Right?”

Lincoln nodded wordlessly, though he looked less convinced than Clarke felt. “Let’s get back to the group,” he said.

As they headed back into the common room, they saw Raven and Harper listening anxiously to a recording device.

“Did it say ‘I died?’” Harper asked, voice no louder than a faint whisper.

Raven nodded. “It totally did.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at Wells, who was contentedly filming everything. He shrugged, then pointed the camera back at Raven.

Just as the others began filing into the common room, looking unimpressed with their findings, Lincoln blurted out, “The guys’ bathroom is haunted.”

Clarke rubbed at her temples, smiling a little when Octavia gasped and ran over to them, asking for specifics. Her eyes met Bellamy’s, and they shared an exasperated look that didn’t quite match how Clarke felt. As Lincoln and Octavia went back towards the bathroom to check out the moaning noise, the others sat down around the common room, questioning Clarke as to what she heard.

“Just this weird moaning. We thought it was Monty and Jasper playing a trick on us, but they weren’t in there.” Raven’s and Wick’s eyes lit up, and Monroe’s frown deepened. Harper squeezed her roommate’s shoulder, giving her a small smile. “It was probably just a draft.”

Surprisingly, it was Bellamy who spoke up. “That bathroom doesn’t have any windows. Where would the draft be coming from?”

“The _ghost_ , duh. Have you been paying attention at _all_ , Blake?” Raven asked. Bellamy shot her an unimpressed look.

“This building isn’t even fifty years old – whose ghost would be haunting it, theoretically?” Bellamy flopped down on the couch next to Wells. “Hmm?”

“Actually, there have been at least two deaths in this dorm,” Monty said, pulling a couple sheets from his backpack.

Jasper nodded. “Yeah, we did some research, and we found two different deaths on site. One was a suicide: a girl named Charlotte jumped off the roof about ten years ago. It was real tragic; she was only thirteen.”

“Lincoln was right,” Clarke said, voice soft. “I thought that happened at the science building.”

“Jesus,” Bellamy hissed, the dark shadows of the room highlighting the anguish on his face. “Thirteen?”

“Yeah,” Monty continued. “Daughter of one of the professors. Struggled with PTSD and depression, they think. Her father had died in prison when she was a child, and had been pretty abusive to her and her mother before that.”

Clarke heard Bellamy murmur something that sounded like, “She _was_ a child.”

“I remember when it happened,” she said quietly. Her mother had been Dean of Students at the time, and the whole Griffin family had attended the memorial service. “She was a couple of years older than me and Wells, so we didn’t know her too well, but-”

“It was scary,” Wells said, as if reading her thoughts. “It was the first time we’d ever been faced with suicide, with the demons some people fought.”

There was a pause, thick with sadness and discomfort, then Monty spoke again. “The other death was in the 80s, an overdose.”

Jasper swallowed thickly as he looked at the printout Monty had handed him. “And it says here…he was found in the guys’ bathroom. Dead.”

Clarke tensed, jumping a foot in the air when Lincoln squeezed her shoulder. “Jesus,” she gasped. “Make some noise next time.” Lincoln and Octavia laughed, and the dark mood that had settled over the group broke.

“Well now that we know who might be haunting this place,” Raven said, “Let’s try to contact them!”

The kids sat down in a circle in the middle of the common room, an EMS reader and recorder sitting in the middle. The cameras were placed around the room, to capture video from all angles, and Raven began leading them in a séance.

“Alright, everyone grab hands- yes, that means _you_ Murphy. I don’t care if you’re not gay, hold Miller’s fucking hand- there, was that so hard?” She grabbed Wick’s hand in her left, Clarke’s in her right. Clarke held Wells’ hand tightly. She noted that across the circle, Octavia was very enthusiastically holding onto Lincoln. Bellamy eyed them suspiciously.

As everyone settled down, the room fell silent. Raven gave Clarke’s hand a squeeze, then began speaking again. “If there is a spirit here with us tonight, will you make yourself known?”

No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound came from a couple of people outside, laughing and singing. A car drove past, radio blasting. And then it was silent again.

“Can you tell us your name?” Raven asked.

Again, silence. Clarke felt herself growing restless. Wells poked her in the side when she started rocking back and forth.

“Is there someone with us?” Raven asked again, her patience clearly waning. “Please make yourself known. We’re not here to hurt you.”

The lights on the EMS device light up briefly, before going dark again. A couple people in the circle chuckled, and Clarke laughed softly.

“Was that you?” Raven asked, smiling widely. “Can you tell us your name?”

Silence, and then:

“Clarke?”

Harper had spoken her name, but it was not Harper’s voice. The girl’s head lolled to the side, eyes rolling back and body growing slack. Her jaw opened and closed mechanically, and a voice Clarke had not heard in three years spoke.

“Clarke? Is that you?”

Wells gasped, and tightened his grip on Clarke’s hand. Clarke was shaking, this had to be a trick, or some cruel, cruel joke-

“Clarke? I can’t see, Clarke. It’s so dark here. Clarke, please-” Harper’s head snapped up, and she looked at Clarke directly, still speaking in the voice of Jake Griffin. “Clarke, it hurt so much. Dying hurt, I was dying for so long. Why didn’t you come see me? Why didn’t you say goodbye? Clarke, didn’t you love me, Clarke?”

“I did!” Clarke gasped out, eyes blurred with tears. “I loved you more than anyone! I tried to be there, I did, I swear! Dad, please!”

Harper regarded Clarke for a second, then turned, blank eyes scanning the circle of petrified students. Her gaze stopped on Bellamy, and a slow, cruel smile formed on her face.

“Bellamy,” she said, and though this voice was higher, softer, more feminine, it still was not Harper’s. Bellamy froze and Octavia gasped, letting go of Lincoln’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Why did you kill me, Bellamy?” Harper asked, tilting her head to one side. “I did everything for you, I threw away my life for you? How could you kill me like that? How could you kill your own mother?”

Through her tears, Clarke saw that Bellamy was shaking, though out of fear or anger or grief she could not tell. He was gripping Octavia’s hand tightly, knuckles turning white. Octavia looked at her brother, eyes wide and pleading.

“It’s a trick,” Raven said, voice rough and trembling. “Don’t listen to it, it’s trying to upset you. It’s not real.”

But she didn’t quite sound convinced herself. Monty had Miller’s arm in a vice grip, and Monroe looked ready to attack. Even Murphy looked appropriately scared.

Harper turned back to Clarke, baring her teeth like a wild dog. “It hurts, Clarke. Everything hurts. Where am I? Save me, Clarke. Save me!”

Then she had turned back to Bellamy, crawling across the circle towards him, hissing. “Murderer! MURDERER! _YOU KILLED ME!”_

“NO!” Bellamy shouted, voice cracking. “It was an accident, I didn’t- _Mom!_ ”

Before Harper could reach Bellamy, Octavia lunged out and knocked the girl over. There was a screech, and then Harper was sitting up, gasping for air. She looked around wildly, hand at her heart.

“W-what-?”

Before she could ask a question, though, Clarke felt two hands wrap around her neck and shove her to the floor. She gasped and kicked, fighting her invisible assailant, but it was strong, oh so strong, and black spots formed in her vision.

“CLARKE!” The room was abuzz with motion and noise. Wells wrenched her upright, and Raven pulled out her rosary, slinging it around like a mace.

This seemed to do the trick, and seconds later Clarke was released. She gasped for air, clutching at her throat.

“Clarke!” Bellamy had jumped up and was now kneeling in front of her, hands brushing against hers. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, coughing violently. Bellamy brushed a strand of hair from her face with surprising tenderness, then stood and began barking orders at people.

“Everyone needs to get _out_ now. Miller, Murphy – help Wells get down the stairs. Reyes – you have an apartment nearby, right? Text everyone the address in case we get separated, we’ll make our ways there. Leave everything here, we’ll come back for it in the morning.” He turned to Clarke, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Should evacuate the building?”

She shook her head. “No one will believe us,” she managed to croak out, voice still hoarse from the attack.

Bellamy did not seem to like this answer, but he couldn’t argue. “I’ll send out a dorm-wide email. Everyone’s out for the most part.”

Clarke knew there would be doubtless repercussions for sending out such a bizarre email, but she nodded anyway.

Everyone moved as quickly as they could. Miller and Murphy ushered Wells out of the room first, followed quickly by Monty and Jasper. Monroe pulled a shaking Harper to her feet and held onto her hand, dragging her out of the common room without a backwards glance. Wick pulled Raven up as she texted her address to the group, and she grabbed one of the cameras as they left. Lincoln offered Clarke his hand and hoisted her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” He asked, examining the bruises on her neck. She nodded.

“C’mon, we need to go.” It was Octavia who spoke, voice level and eyes sharp, as calm as if she hadn’t just heard her dead mother accuse her brother of murder. “Bell, come on.”

Bellamy, who had been staring at a dark corner beside the bookshelf started, then nodded and ushered the other three out of the room. His hand lingered on Clarke’s back, a surprisingly comforting presence.

The four of them made it out of the dorm without incident, but Clarke was still uneasy as they filed into the warm night. Lincoln touched her arm, briefly, and she realized she had stopped. Shakily, she took one last look at the Ship, before following the other down the street to Raven’s place.

She didn’t tell them that about the transparent figure she saw on standing on the roof.

* * *

 

When they walked in, the energy in Raven’s apartment was tangible. Jasper and Monroe were pacing back and forth, hands in the air, talking over one another. Raven, Wick, and Murphy watched the TV with unprecedented intensity; Clarke saw that they’d hooked it up to the salvaged camera. Monty and Miller were talking in hushed tones in the kitchen, both looking scared shitless. Harper sat on the couch next to Wells, leaning against his arm as he played with her hair.

Lincoln and Octavia plopped themselves down in front of the TV with the others, gasping at something on the screen. Clarke shuddered, hand absently coming up to touch her neck. Bellamy gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“You look like you could use some water,” he said softly. “C’mon.”

He led her to the bathroom, sitting her down on the edge of the tub as he filled a dixie cup full of water. She took it gratefully, and sipped on it as he examined her neck in the light.

“It looks like hand prints,” he murmured. “That thing has hands.”

Clarke looked away, feeling bile rise in her throat. “So did my father.”

Bellamy shook his head, swallowing loudly. “No, Raven was right, that wasn’t your dad – it was a trick. Your dad wouldn’t do that to you.”

Clarke began to shake so hard that she started spilling her water. Bellamy set the cup to the side, then took her hands in his. “I was out with friends the night he died,” she said, voice no louder than a whisper. “My phone died, Wells’ was on silent, we didn’t see the messages until it was too-” She broke off, then laughed quietly. “I blamed him for the longest time, Wells. Blamed him that I didn’t get to say goodbye. It was dumb, and I was really just blaming myself, but Wells let me hate me, let me blame him-”

She ducked her head down, feeling tears pricking at her eyes. Bellamy stroked her hair, letting her compose herself. Eventually, he began to speak. “I was driving. Mom was tired, had just come off a double shift and Octavia was asleep in the backseat. Mom and I were arguing, I didn’t see the other car-” He stopped, and Clarke was surprised to see tears pooled in his eyes. “They say she died on impact, so she didn’t suffer. But you wanna know the last thing I said to her?” He lowered his gaze, lip curling in disgust. “I said, ‘I wish I had never been born. I wish me and O had never been born, Mom had fucked us both up so much.’” He ran a hand over his face, looking so much older than twenty-one. “It wasn’t true. I was being a brat. And that’s the last thing she ever heard. Her shitstain son being ungrateful and cruel.”

“Bellamy…” Clarke said. “She knew you loved her.” He shrugged, unconvinced. “Raven was right. It was a cruel, cruel trick.”

Bellamy smiled at her softly, and held out his hand to help her up. She took it, and they left the bathroom, heading back to join the others.

Then Clarke felt something brush her back.

She whipped around, and saw a shadow dart into the room at the end of the hall. Without a word, she followed it, and Bellamy followed her.

“Clarke?”

They stopped in the middle of the room. It had belonged to Raven’s roommate, who had moved out at the beginning of the semester. It was empty, save for a bed and a chest of drawers.

“Clarke, what is it?” Bellamy asked, hand on her shoulder. She looked around wildly.

“Bell,” she said, clenching her fists. “I think something followed us here.”

At that exact moment, the door slammed shut, and Bellamy flew across the room, hitting the wall and falling to the bed. Clarke screamed.

“Stop it!” She yelled. “Leave him alone!”

The spirit – demon, thing? – turned on her, nothing more than a dark shadow, and then she felt herself fly against the opposite wall, dark hands at her throat.

“Clarke? Bellamy?!” Someone was pounding on the door from the outside. “Guys, what’s happening?!”

Bellamy groaned, clutching at the back of his head. Clarke gasped for air, struggling against her supernatural assailant. When he saw her, pressed against the wall, head brushing the ceiling, he sprang up, eyes flashing with anger.

“Let her go, dickface!” He yelled, grabbing at Clarke’s waist and tugging her down. The demon let go, and Clarke fell, landing on top of Bellamy. For the second time that night, she gasped, clutching at her next, dizzy and disoriented. Bellamy held tight to her, as if scared that the demon would grab her again.

The door slammed open with a bang, and Raven barged in, the others at her heel. Monty was holding a laptop open, reading Latin off some webpage. Raven brandished her rosary, shouting at the demon in a mix of Spanish and English. Miller and Monroe held baseball bats in front of them, and Lincoln and Octavia looked ready to pummel the demon with their fists.

Bellamy was tugged out from under Clarke, but she managed to grab onto his arm, sliding across the floor with him. They slammed against the chest of drawers, and Bellamy flipped himself on top of Clarke, using his body to shield her from demon’s wrath.

“The power of Christ compels you, jackass!” Raven yelled, whipping her rosary at the dark shadow.

Monty’s chanting grew louder, and Clarke realized that they were performing some bastardized version of an exorcism. Raven moved closer, backing the shadow into a corner. Clarke couldn’t tell what must’ve been more frightening to the demon: the rosary and prayer, or a pissed-off Raven Reyes. Her money was on Raven.

Monty was shouting now, and there was a rumble, a scream, a flash of light, and then the demon was gone. The room was silent for a second, then exploded with sound.

“Oh my GOD, you guys,” Raven said, falling to the ground in front of them and wrapping them up in a hug. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“We’ll try not to piss off any more demons,” Clarke said dryly. Raven’s arms wrapped tighter around them, but she managed to laugh a little.

Wells attacked as soon as Raven pulled away, grabbing Clarke in a monster hug. “Are you okay?” He asked, face tucked into her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Next to her, Bellamy was having a similar conversation with Octavia, who had practically crawled on top of him and shaking violently.

“I’m okay, O, I’m okay. I’m right here,” Bellamy was murmuring. “I’m right here.”

The rest of the night went smoothly. The video footage from the séance played on the TV, forgotten, as the group of friends drank and talked and ate. Jasper and Monty reenacted Raven’s battle with the demon, Jasper dramatically falling to the ground as Monty stood above him shouting, “The power of Christ compels you!”

Around one, Harper fell asleep against Wells, her feet propped up in Monroe’s lap. Neither looked as if they minded very much. Clarke winked at her best friend, returning to conversation with Raven and Wick.

By four, almost everyone had fallen asleep. Raven had dragged Wick off to bed with her, claiming she needed him there so the demons would eat him first. He gave her a look of mock offense, but very gladly followed her out of the room. Wells, Harper, and Monroe had commandeered the couch, and Miller and Monty looked very cozy piled on top of each other in the arm chair. Jasper was passed out on the coffee table, and Murphy was slumped against the wall.  Bellamy and Clarke sat at the tiny kitchen table, Clarke nursing a tea, Bellamy playing with a loose strand of Clarke’s hair.

“So three different people responded to my dorm-wide email asking if I was high,” Bellamy said, patting the phone in his pocket. “And two others asked if we were the ones who woke them with our screaming.”

Clarke laughed, rubbing at her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Oh, we’ll have to answer to so much when we get back.”

“I just hope no one reported that email,” Bellamy mused, not looking too worried. “That could get ugly.”

“In our defense, we didn’t realize the demon would _follow_ us,” Clarke said with a yawn. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“It _is_ morning, Princess,” Bellamy said, and for the first time, the nickname didn’t hold any malice.

“Shh,” Clarke said, sipping at her tea. “It’s not morning until I’ve gone to sleep and then woken up.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, a smiling fondly. “C’mon, let’s go to bed then.”

Taking her hand, Bellamy led her to the spare bedroom, where just a few hours ago they’d nearly died. He walked over to the bed and sat down. Clarke sat next to him, gazing around the room nervously.

“That thing isn’t coming back,” Bellamy murmured, eyes fluttering a little sleepily. “I won’t let it hurt you.”

Clarke pushed Bellamy back so he was lying down, the settled down next to him. “I know. I feel safe with you here.”

Bellamy turned so his face was buried in her neck. “Same,” he whispered.

Slowly, gently, Clarke turned and ducked her head, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft and chaste and tender, a calm end to a terrifying night. Bellamy snaked his arm around her waist, and rested his forehead against hers.

“G’night, Clarke,” he whispered, eyes closing shut.

“Night, Bellamy,” she replied. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

He grinned, and they both drifted off, neither one dreaming of the horrors of that night. Outside, the sun rose in the sky, and all was well.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't mean for there to be actual ghosts/demons. But then I thought of Raven fighting a demon and thought, hmmm, yes, this is exactly what my trash soul craves.


End file.
